You’ll Only Ever Regret The Pictures You Didn’t Take

In 2013, a life-long dream came true for a 15-year old Kreeta. A little red mare by the name of Red Star De Talma “Ready” came into my life. She was a pretty special horse with a real fire to her whole being – and she taught me a whole lot. Lessons about responsibility, consistency, working through disappointments, and appreciating the small successes. All that, along with a healthy dose of critical thinking and trusting not only my instincts, but most of all, what my horse was trying to tell me. And in the end, the lesson of letting go. This year –the year of the fire horse– marks a decade from me losing her, and I still miss that sweet face. Her passing was a bit of a catapult for a change of direction in my life, as within two months I had left Finland. In many ways, having had her, and then lost her, led me on the path I am on today. And what an adventure it has been. For all those things I am grateful for, and I see all that in the portrait below.

Now, to get to the whole point of this post. 

I was by no means a professional photographer back when I owned Ready, but I did have a blog and that meant I occasionally took some photographs of our daily lives. I’m talking auto-mode and kit lenses, but nevertheless, I took the photos. Somehow I had even been smart or lucky enough to photograph in RAW mode, which later allowed me to re-edit the image and turn it into a portrait that now hangs on the wall of our Toronto home.

It’s impossible to put into words just how meaningful it is for me to have been able to create an image like the ones I get to create for my clients, years after my heart horse passed away. The only reason it was possible, is because I took that picture. Regardless of my lack of skill, or fancy equipment, or any kind of photography knowledge. Don’t let any of those reasons be excuses that stop you from taking that picture or having those pictures taken by someone you trust to do so for you. I promise, you’ll be so thankful you did. When it’s your greatest childhood wish staring back at you six or sixty years after you’ve said the hardest of goodbyes, it will mean the world to you.